Pulling the door closed a fraction, John smiled as he tossed a wave at the departing Riley. The girl who he considered his…friend? Girlfriend? He wasn't quite sure, but if he thought she was batshit crazy most of the time, he was totally unprepared for when she had some alcohol in her. Unpredictable didn't even begin to describe the girl.

She'd somehow managed to snag a bottle of vodka from her foster parent's liquor cabinet and hightailed it over to the Connor/Baum house to share it with John. Sarah was away on another bout of three dot chasing lunacy, Derek was God knew where, so he took advantage and had gotten pretty well stewed with the blonde on the front porch.

Riley had managed to coax a ride home out of her foster dad, who sat in the typical family SUV glaring daggers at John from the drivers seat. Not that he could make anything out in detail that far away, his visual clarity abandoning him around about the same time he thought it'd be a good idea to challenge Riley to a 'who can keep the vodka in their mouth the longest' competition.

She won.

He watched the vehicle pull away after she'd climbed in, but not before she'd blew him a kiss from the opposite side. Letting out a short, sharp breath of laughter, John closed the door quietly and started fumbling about with the lock. Not that he had to. As far as suburban LA homes go, the Connor house had the greatest security system ever devised by non human minds, and it's creator was sitting on the couch right now.

That was the reason he'd spent so long talking to Riley outside, even after the bottle of booze was done and dusted. He didn't want to go back inside, because she was there. Cameron, his stoic protector. He knew she was inside, probably watching his every move too, hidden by the darkness and the drapes.

She saw everything, or so she'd once told him. So that meant she'd no doubt seen the way his body reacted when Riley gave him a goodnight kiss, albeit a drunken, sloppy one full of tongues, saliva and roaming hands. Hey, he was sixteen and she was his first girlfriend, his body was allowed to betray him in ways he had no control over.

He didn't mind her watching. In some ways, he wanted her to see. He wanted her to see how much a real girl made him happy, made him laugh, showed him affection. He didn't know why, but he felt like it was something he needed to do. If he didn't, he wasn't sure how else he was supposed to behave when it came to his protector.

Sighing unhappily, John thudded his forehead off the closed door a couple of times before turning and heading unsteadily for the living room. His head swam from a mix of forty percent proof alcohol and his teenage hormones still raging. Steadying himself against the wall, he forced himself to straighten up and get a grip. Clearing his face and his mind, he entered the room.

There she was, right where he expected her to be. She didn't even blink when he moved past her, didn't flinch when he flopped down on the opposite end of the couch, didn't even look when he let out an unsteady breath. She simply sat and stared straight ahead as if nothing had changed, as if her charge and centre of her universe hadn't just breezed in past her reeking of booze and Riley's cheap perfume.

He didn't want to be there, but he didn't want to go to bed either. Too many nightmares when he eventually did manage to sleep. He wanted to be alone, but if he did, he knew he'd end up listening to the remarkably light footed Cameron hovering outside his room like a lost puppy under the guise of a patrol, for his security.

She sat stoically, her hands resting neatly on her knees. She wore black leggings and a long t-shirt/dress that reached her thighs. It wasn't quite as 'badass' as her usual attire, but still appropriate and functional nonetheless. John noticed when he came in that she'd removed the boots she was wearing earlier, her bare feet standing out in stark contrast to the black of the cotton and elastene that stopped just above her ankles.

Contrary to popular belief, namely that of his mother and his uncle, he wasn't just that wet behind the ears young pup, John Baum. John Connor had legendary observation skills, he noticed a lot of things that most others wouldn't. It was a gift, John noticed everything. Most wouldn't notice that she'd removed her boots, but John did. He noticed everything about Cameron.

He noticed her hair was straight today, a change from her usual long, flowing curls. He liked it.

He chastised himself for liking it. He wasn't supposed to like it. He noticed it, but he wasn't supposed to like it. It was wrong to like something that wasn't human, to like something that wasn't done for any other reason than to blend in. She did everything for a reason, everything with a purpose, everything was calculated. She hadn't straightened her hair because it looked cute, she'd done it for him, he was sure. She wanted to test him, to see if it would garner a reaction from him.

He didn't know what exactly went on in her head, but he couldn't help feel a pang of resentment and anger at her motives. Everything had to be a ploy to keep him away from Riley, the girl who was apparently a 'risk', and a 'danger'. If it wasn't, then he didn't want to think about any other alternatives. That would mean she could feel, that she cared, and he didn't want to consider that possibility. It was easier to ignore it and go on treating her like nothing more than a business partner that he was stuck with.

But buried deep, deep down, he knew the truth. He knew that he still held a tiny glimmer of hope that here was something beneath that pretty exterior and the impenetrable outer shell of her personality. He wanted her to be more, because she was perfect. She was everything a boy could want. She was loyal, caring in her own way, she made him smile. She was beautiful, very beautiful…but she wasn't human.

Everything was simulated, processed, analysed and then acted on. If he was to throw himself at her now and passionately kiss her, she'd likely respond in kind and move her impossibly soft and delicate lips against his. She'd moan when he touched her, whimper when he made her feel more than she was prepared for. She'd slide her hands over his body and gasp when his hand caressed the skin of her breast. She'd groan when he parted her legs and slid his hand beneath the tight confines of the leggings and touched her, really touched her. She'd shiver and bite his earlobe as he drove her towards her climax, his finger deep in her hot, wet tightness as she breathed his name sending shivers down his spine.

She'd bite his shoulder to keep from crying out as he pushed her over the edge, his arms would sting from where she clutched desperately at them when he didn't let up. His jeans would be straining, his desire to make her a woman would cloud his judgement so much that he wouldn't notice that her eyes burned blue in the darkness of the room. He'd only be able to focus on her reactions as her walls tightened around his finger and her wetness greeted his success.

But he knew it wouldn't be real. It would all be calculated, mimicked and acted out to fool him. There was no way in hell she'd be able to feel the pleasure he'd give her, it wasn't possible, she only processed lines of code translated from electrical impulses through her wires and circuitry. She couldn't, it was impossible…so why was he unable to tear his eyes away from the juncture of her thighs, the promised land of his fantasy a moment ago.

Shaking his head, he shuffled on the couch and adjusted himself, draping an arm across his lap to hide the most obvious evidence of his thoughts. She glanced his way, no doubt checking out the movement around her closer. Deciding it warranted no more of her processing power, her gaze returned to its previous position. If he wasn't so drunk, he'd have sworn her gaze flitted to his lap momentarily.

He wanted her to be more, he wanted her to be real. He wanted her to have emotions, maybe that way she might be able to reciprocate what he felt for her. Even being so unsure of exactly what he felt for her, he just wanted something out of her, anything to make him feel more secure about his feelings.

Maybe if he got physically closer, something might break, in either his or her mind. Emotional closeness might follow if he made the move and closed the distance between them. Maybe…maybe…oh hell, he had no clue what might happen, or even what he truly wanted to happen.

His better judgement still impaired by alcohol and hormones, John wordlessly leaned to his side, his head coming to rest in her lap. As if she was expecting it, her hands lifted from her legs as he lowered himself down. Facing away from her, John couldn't see the curious tilt of her head, but he knew it was there.

As he closed his eyes, he rested one hand on his new pillow, namely her thigh. It wasn't a sexual touch, far from it, merely a means to gain more comfort than he, surprisingly, was experiencing right now. After a few minutes, his heart rate slowed to a crawl. His eyes however slowly opened, despite his body ready to shut down and sleep. His voice slow, gravelly and a little shaky, he spoke for the first time since he'd wished goodnight to Riley.

"It's not fair." He got no reply. That was good because he wasn't expecting one, and he didn't want one either.

"Y…you're warm." He could feel the heat radiating from her legs, through the thin layer of fabric and into his cheek. This time he was sure it wasn't from the alcohol, it was her, "And soft."

Slowly, his hand shifted a couple of inches to the side over her thigh, "You're not supposed to be soft. I should be able to feel the metal in your leg. I've seen endoskeletons before."

Screwing his eyes shut, John tried to block out enough of the memories of so many nightmares and allow just enough in to find the information he wanted. "There's a metal bone right here," He pressed down on her thigh, right where the main strip of metal ran from her knee to her hip. He felt something, but it wasn't like metal, "But I can't feel it. It's not right, why can't I feel it?"

Cameron didn't say anything, she merely sat with her hand hovering above his head as she stared down at the man who was the entirety of her universe. John continued to press at her thigh and found nothing but spongy flesh and cotton, not the metal of her endoskeleton that for some reason he was determined to feel.

Giving up, he slumped back down again and closed his eyes. His mind slowing down, the alcohol taking full effect, he groaned and mumbled against her leg, "Not fair, Cameron. Why? Why did I send you?"

"You make me so confused, you spin me about." He snuggled closer, sleep close to overcoming him, "Wish you were…wish…"

That was the last thing he said, leaving Cameron alone with the sleeping human on her lap. She lowered her hand to his head, experimentally dragging her fingers delicately through his hair. When he didn't stir, she let her hand settle, her thumb gently stroking back and forth where it came to rest.

No matter what John wished or wanted, no matter how he felt about her, she'd always be there for him. She was his Cameron, and nothing he ever did would make her leave or abandon him. Deep, deep down within the depths of her chip, something sparked. An emotion she wasn't entirely comfortable with and didn't understand fought its way to the surface as she stared down at a slumbering John.

She wanted to tell him what she was feeling, wanted him to know there was more beneath the surface. She hid everything she felt, hid everything she knew he wanted to see, because if she didn't, she risked losing everything that was precious to her. If they knew, if he knew, then she might not be long for this world. People wouldn't understand, Sarah and Derek wouldn't understand. She didn't know if John would understand yet…but she felt more than they could ever accept.

She was in love, and she knew it. Somehow she knew, and one day soon, she hoped John would know it too.


This has been mostly done for a while now, I just added the final 400ish words this morning. Don't worry, I'll start work on I'm Not For You to Understand again soon.

Hope you all like these couple of one shots.